


Pinprick

by LyricDreamweaver



Series: 33 Ocassions for TF2 Guro [10]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: And it's not a metaphor for sex AT ALL, Embroidery, M/M, Stitches, Two bros talking about embroidery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 01:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11070984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyricDreamweaver/pseuds/LyricDreamweaver
Summary: He never thought the Spy would be one for embroidery but . . .





	Pinprick

**Author's Note:**

> I guess this could be a companion to "With Rods and Laces" if you want it to be.

He never thought the Spy would be one for embroidery but here, on a Saturday night in Sniper’s camper, Spy was hard at work. Sniper wasn’t allowed to see what Spy was creating which was infuriating because the Spy was working on the Sniper’s un-gloved hand. Every so often, the Spy would pause, think, then continue his work.  
The needle went too deep and Sniper hissed. “Careful.”  
“Then stop squirming. Spy’s eyes never left the work on Sniper’s un-gloved palm.   
“I wouldn’t squirm so much if you’d let me see it.”  
“ _Non._ ”  
“Not even a peek?”  
“ _Non._ ”  
Sniper sighed, settling into his chair and trying not to squirm. But he could only stare around his own camper for so long while the needle slid through his skin. So he stared at the setup on the table.   
Between them was an ashtray, something Sniper kept only because Spy liked to come by often. And tonight, Spy brought his own embroidery thread, mostly blues and greys. The needles weren’t the curved ones Sniper kept around to stitch himself up. There was an elegance to the perfectly straight pieces of metal.  
“There.” Spy picked up the scissors from the table, cutting the excess thread. “Now you may look.”  
Sniper almost knocked over the bottle of disinfectant on the table as he pulled his hand back, staring at his palm. Stitched in navy blue and coal grey was a little rifle.  
“We can’t leave it in too long.” Spy pulled his cigarette case from inside his suit jacket, lighting two cigarettes and passing one to Sniper.  
“It’s incredible,” he said, taking a drag.  
Spy shrugged. “There was an artist I knew once.”  
“Was she one of those dominating type of gals?”  
Spy narrowed his eyes in that way that Sniper knew meant yes. Sniper couldn’t help but chuckle.  
“So you’re saying she tied you up and did something like this?”   
“She took it a step farther than we did, _mon œuvre d'art._ "  
"So what did she do ? " Sniper asked, taking another drag from his cigarette.   
Spy traced the handle of the scissors. "She was very fond of . . . dehumanizing her conquests. It was better than branding. Each person had a custom-sewed emblem. For me, she chose a cat. "  
"On your hand ? "  
"On my back. "  
Sniper thought that over for a moment. It had been hard enough to sit still for this long but to have this done to someone’s back ?   
"But it was thrilling. To be displayed like nothing more than a painting and to know I was individual enough to warrant value but also replaceable. I can’t describe it. "  
"I can imagine. "  
"I’ve always wondered, " Spy mused, "what it was like on the other side of the needle. "  
Sniper shrugged, feeling more like he was watching Spy instead of talking to him.  
"It’s incredible. " Spy snubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. "I would like, if you would indulge me, to do this more often. "  
"Alright, " Sniper said, holding out his hand as Spy picked up the scissors. "But you’ve gotta sew something personalized for me. "  
"I think, for you, an owl. "  
"‘cause I’m wise, yeah ? "  
"No, " Spy replied, but he had a small smile. "Because nothing escapes that cold stare of yours. You know you shot me more than twenty times today."  
"Twenty-seven. "  
Spy raised a brow, making the first cut in the thread and pulling it. The feeling of thread moving through his skin made Sniper clear his throat. He wasn’t sure if it was a turn on or if he was disgusted.  
"I kept track. "  
Spy only shook his head, undoing the stitches he’d put into Sniper’s hands. The more he adjusted, the more Sniper liked this and hated the idea of pulling out the stitches. He liked the way Spy looked at him when the embroidery was finished.


End file.
